Page 20 of A Perfect Devon Christmas
Her mind drifted back to Omar, worrying she’d revealed too much. He was such a private person, she was certain he wouldn’t want Victor coming to visit, or heaven forbid Mabel and Margaret poking their unwelcome noses in. The grandfather clock in the hall struck four, its deep chime reverberating through the floorboards. Ivy tuned back into the conversation just in time to hear the end of item three – Victor had found a YouTube video and would be making sustainable Christmas decorations for the church.
‘Speaking of which,’ said Victor, ‘I’m having a new carpet fitted in the room where I’m storing the trunk of Christmas decorations I brought from Hull. Anyone got space in their garage to take them for the next week?’
‘Ivy’s shed is enormous,’ Margaret chimed in helpfully from the kitchen, appearing with fresh tea. ‘Practically a small barn, isn’t it?’
Ivy’s mind raced. She’d implied she was helping a homeless man, just meals and the occasional night’s shelter, not a permanent arrangement that could land her in trouble with the Council. If Victor saw the transformed shed, the small heater, the cooker, the carefully organized supplies that clearly showed someone was living in there long term, it was a whole different story.
‘The thing is,’ she said carefully, ‘Omar’s a private person and the shed’s sort of his now, and I’m not sure he’d be comfortable with—’
‘Oh, I’m sure he won’t mind,’ Victor interrupted. ‘I’d love to meet him properly. Maybe I can help him too.’
‘I—’ she began, then stopped. Victor was looking at her with such hopeful expectation, and Margaret was already nodding approvingly at her own suggestion.
‘That’s settled then,’ Margaret declared. ‘When shall we bring the chest over?’
Seven
‘I don’t need your charity,’ Omar snapped, his accent thickening with anger when Ivy suggested the vicar might pop by. ‘Or your village festivals.’ The tiny cottage seemed to shrink further with the force of his emotion.
Ivy spoke softly, wanting to defuse matters. ‘Omar, why not let us try?’ She raised her eyes at Fred, seeking help.
‘We want to make you feel welcome in Brambleton,’ said Fred, and Ivy could have hugged him for his diplomacy, although recalling Mabel and Margaret’s tart words in the vicarage, she wasn’t sure that was true for the entire village.
‘Huh!’ spat Omar, as he turned and left.
The back door slammed behind him, making Ivy wince. She felt the floorboards vibrate.
Startled by the noise, Jez started yapping frantically, his high-pitched bark bouncing off the low ceiling and echoing round the space, setting Ivy’s teeth on edge. ‘Jezreel, please, hush now little one,’ she pleaded, rubbing her hands over her face The dog ignored her, continuing his shrill protest.
‘He’s hiding something,’ she said, having to raise her voice over the racket. ‘I know it. The way he tenses up whenever I suggest something which involves him coming out of that wretched shed ...’
Fred set his teacup down with a decisive clink. ‘Ivy, we both know what he’s hiding. He’s an illegal immigrant. He won’t tell us anything about his background, or where he’s been livingbefore now. He almost certainly arrived on that dinghy.’ His voice was gentle but firm. ‘We really should let the authorities handle this.’
‘No!’ The word burst out louder than she’d intended, setting Jez off on a fresh wave of barking. She watched the rain trace paths down the window, the same way memories slipped through her thoughts. After all these years, she still felt the tug, that pull toward anyone hurting, anyone alone. Some promises, once made, never stopped echoing. Not if you’d broken them once already. ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘I won’t do that to him.’
‘Ivy . . .’
Her thoughts whirled back to the meeting and Margaret’s ambush. ‘What are we going to do about Victor and his wretched trunk of decorations? If he sees inside that shed ...’
‘Leave that to me. I’ll offer to go and collect his trunk and find some room in my own shed.’
He was a dear friend. ‘Thanks,’ she said.
Ivy felt tiny paws climbing her shin in clumsy bursts, little nails snagging in her tights. Jez’s quick puffy breath whispered against her leg. Looking down, she met his gleaming, round eyes. A tug – deep and unexpected – tightened in her chest. Her fingertips brushed over his silken ears. The tights were history, but his bright face made it impossible to mind. He yapped at her, and she smiled.
Then he launched himself at Fred’s legs, barking. Fred caught him mid-jump, his weathered hands gentle as he examined the squirming puppy. ‘Sorry,’ said Ivy, ‘I don’t know what’s got into that pup today. He’s hardly stopped all day.’
‘He’s barking to get your attention. They bark for a reason.’
Ivy shrugged. ‘Do they?’
‘Have you fed him?’
How incompetent did Fred think she was? ‘Yes! Three times. And he’s been out to do his business after each meal.’
‘When did you last check his water bowl?’
Ivy chewed her lip. Fred handed her the puppy, crossed to a ceramic bowl in the corner and picked it up. ‘Look. Empty,’ he said, upending the bowl. ‘He’s thirsty. That’s why he’s being so vocal.’
